


Pounded by Cthulhu's Lost Butt-tacle

by cadmean



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, Tingleverse - Chuck Tingle
Genre: Anal Sex, Crack, Crossover, Humor, M/M, Parody, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8998540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadmean/pseuds/cadmean
Summary: While on vacation in a small, sea-side town in New England, Alex stumbles upon a group of cultists trying to summon a Great Old Butt from the far reaches of R’lyeh. However, what appears instead is a sentient butt-tentacle named Churto, whom Alex helps to escape. On the run from the cultists, Churto and Alex must seek guidance from the Goat of a Thousand Butts in order to return Churto to his rightful place as a butt-tacle on the glorious, fearsome butt of Cthulhu.
This erotic fanfic is a whole lot of words of cosmic horrors, sizzling sentient butt-tacle on human action, and H.P. Lovecraft’s greatest fear: the Welsh.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Longpig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longpig/gifts).



To put it plain and simple: I’m lost. In and of itself that’s not all too rare an occurrence and so I'm not all that bothered when I don’t immediately recognize the streets I'm walking down while on vacation in the small town of East Phalliford, but by the time the fog starts rolling in and rain begins to drizzle down, I’m forced to admit that I’m perhaps a bit more lost than usual.

Thankfully, just as I’m getting absolutely drenched to the point where my chiseled abs are showing beneath my thin white shirt, I spot a light going on in one of the otherwise dark nearby houses – I’m saved!

I rush over to the door, spend a good minute looking for a door bell or the like, and eventually simply resort to pounding the heavy wood with my fist.

“Hello?” I call. “I’m a tourist, and I’m lost! Could you please help me?”

There’s no answer. I wait a few more moments before renewing my knocking, this time with more force behind it – and the door, much to my surprise, suddenly swings open. Startled, one hand still raised in the air, I look up to greet my savior. But there’s no one standing on the other side of the threshold; instead, yawning darkness is the only thing that greets me.

I’m not one to look a gift house in the proverbial scary self-opening doorway, however, so I step inside.

The inside is much like the outside: damp and dark. I fumble for the lightswitch for a few moments before catching sight of a glimmer of light down the hallway and making my toward that instead – there’s just barely enough light in the gloom for me to avoid running into any of the bizarre tables and other paraphernalia that litter the hallway. I would deem it a hoarder’s house were it not for the fact that most of the stuff looks like it’s come straight out of a horror movie. There’s ancient-looking tomes, all stacked on top of each other on every available surface, lots of chalk, and various pieces of parchment. And seriously, who even uses parchment anymore in these enlightened times of the touch screen?

As I’m ruminating the ins and outs of a phone touch screen made to feel like parchment, I arrive at the end of the hallway, where the light is coming from. I now see that there’s a door there, slightly ajar, and that the room behind it seems to be illuminated by a whole lot of candles.

I’ve finally found people! Perhaps they can tell me how to get back to my hotel—

There’s some murmurs that make their way over to my ears, and I freeze.

_“Butt'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wbutt'nagl fhtagn,_ ” I hear, repeated again and again and again.

Cautiously, I push the door open a bit more so that I can see through into the room beyond—

Full disclosure: before I went on this trip to the quiet New England town of East Phalliford, I did my research. West Phalliford, which either no longer exists or never existed in the first place, I’m not sure, was where the great mad poet Abdul Alhunkred purported that one of the Great Old Butts had come through to our reality, only to leave again once it realized that there were far less butts here than in its own dimension. Tales of it lingered, however, and strange happenings haunted the area around where West Phalliford had used to be – East Phalliford first and foremost among them. So I did my research, because it’s always good to be prepared for an eventual appearance of a Great Old Butt or the like.

That being the case, the moment the robed figures that clutter the room beyond the door start chanting and begin to move about the room in strange, elliptical patterns that stretch the geometry of the space around them, making my eyes hurt – well. I know exactly what I’m looking at, here: a summoning ritual.

By the looks of it – the chanting, the butt-shapes slowly starting coalesce out of the robed figures movements – it appears to be an especially intricate one, presumably for one of the Great Old Butts.

I should run. I know that my highest priority right then and there should be to flee as far as possible from this weird house and its starspawn-summoning cultists. And yet . . . I stay. I watch through the gap in the door as the cultists’ movements grow more erratic, I watch how a strange sort of mist seems to settle over the room, I watch how that mists slowly coalesces in the middle of the room, where a faded summoning circle-like array is sketched.

I watch as the mist transforms into a rip across time and space and reality itself, and I hold my breath as I wait for the summoned Great Old Butt to step through.

What appears instead, however, is a startlingly handsome butt-tentacle. As the rip in the universe dissipates, I can see the contours of his muscled, mind-defying form come into sharp focus, and somehow his eyes find mine across the room. They’re blue, and very pretty.

He blinks.

The cultists start rushing towards him, chains in hand and evidently wanting to imprison this handsome being.

I blink.

And in those few seconds, I come to the conclusion that I can’t let the cultists have this incredibly sexy and highly incomprehensible butt-tentacle.

With a shout I push the door open completely and storm into the room, shouldering startled cultists out of the way as I make a grab for the beautiful butt-tentacle. I reach him just before one of the cultists does, and with great determination I yank the butt-tentacle out of the summoning circle. The moment he passes the barrier he stumbles, suddenly appearing to lose all strength – he falls into my arms and I catch him just in time.

The butt-tentacle looks up at me with his soulful eyes. “You’re very hot, you know,” he says, and before I can even so much as blush he passes out in my arms.

The cultists, who are now brandishing what appear to be thin swords and even thinner daggers coated in viscous fluids, move to encircle me and the butt-tentacle.

I do the only sensible thing. First I haul the unconscious starspawn butt-tentacle over my shoulders, then I haul ass straight out of that creepy cultist house.

Once outside, the cultists still hot on my heels and shouting after me to return their butt-tentacle, I remember that I still have no idea where I am. I choose a road at random to run down, then another one, and another – and to my complete surprise I find myself standing in front of my car before too long. Dread cosmic magic? Maybe, but at this point I don’t care either way.

Hastily I throw open the passenger door and gently lower the butt-tentacle onto the seat, taking care to strap it into the seatbelt – better safe than sorry! Then I take the driver’s seat and we drive off, the cultists ineffectually throwing books at the back window.

I drive. I drive. I drive.

I finally stop the car at the edge of a forest road, certain that we’ve lost the cultists and also feeling increasingly tired and worn-out by this whole ordeal.

I glance over at the butt-tentacle, lying unconscious and am suddenly struck with just how incredibly handsome he is. Just as I’m marveling at the way the impossible geometries of his body come together to form such a sexy starspawn creature, he slowly wakes up. There’s a brief panic to be seen in his jittery movements, eyes darting around and trying to take in as much of his surroundings at once as possible—

“Hey,” I say quietly as soon as his eyes settle on me. “You’re okay now. I’m Alex, I rescued you from those evil cultists who tried to summon you.” It seems to calm him down somewhat, which is what I was aiming for.

“Thanks for rescuing me,” says the butt-tentacle after a moment. “I’m the greatest of Cthulhu’s butt-tentacles, by the way – though usually my fellow butt-tentacle studs and I just shorten it to butt-tacle. My name is Churto.”

I’d come across mentions of Cthulhu’s butt-tentacles in my previous research, of course, but to encounter one of those mighty creatures in the flesh is another thing entirely. I cough to hide my embarrassment, then say, "It's very nice to meet you, Churto. Now, what was that about you being Cthulhu's...?" I trail off, waiting for him to explain. 

He sighs, and the sound breaks my heart. “Like I said: I used to hang off of the butt of Cthulhu himself, but I was summoned here by those cultists. I’ve got to get back home to Cthulhu’s butt as soon as possible, though, before he misses me.”

I nod, feeling this poor butt-tacles plight at being stranded in a Cthulhu-less world as if it were my own despair. “Of course! And I’ll happily help you – that is, if you know how to get yourself back home? Because I don’t.”

Churto considers my words, then suggests that we get out of the car for a bit to stretch our legs. Eventually we end up leaning against the hood of the car, both of us staring off into the forest.

“The Goat of a Thousand Butts will know how to get me back to Cthulhu’s butt,” Churto says quietly. “But—“

“What butt?” I echo.

Churto shakes his head. “No, just the one ‘t’. The thing is, in order to get to where the Goat of a Thousand Butts resides, we’re going to have to . . . we’re going to have to fuck, Alex.”

I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. What with the way Churto was going on, I thought it was going to be something extremely horrible – but fucking this hot gay sentient butt-tacle? Sign me right up, Mr Abdul Alhunkred!

To Churto, I nod enthusiastically. “That's not a problem at all. If you don’t mind, either?”

“Mind? Alex, I was _born_ ready for this. Quite literally – I am a butt-tacle! I will appreciate your perky gay butt, as is nice and proper.”

Churto takes off his shirt, revealing a toned stomach and pert nipples. I flush at the sight. He’s even more fit than I am! Before I can comment on how manly and handsome he looks, however, Churto has already divested himself of his pants as well – and seeing his already-erect cock spring free, I can’t help but let out a startled gasp.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I was dread Cthulhu’s greatest butt-tacle,” Churto says, sounding somewhat sheepish.

I can’t stop staring in awe. “Evidently.” Then, noticing Churto’s apprehensive gaze, I add, “It’s amazing. _You’re_ amazing.”

Slowly I reach out to wrap my hand around his massive erect cock, feeling somewhat intimidated. If this is how all of Cthulhu’s butt-tacles are hung, it’s no wonder that Cthulhu himself was forcibly imprisoned beneath the waves.

At my touch Churto lets out a deep moan, and no lie, it’s just about the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard. Emboldened (and super aroused) I give his mighty cock a pump, twisting my wrist and grinning in delight at the noise it draws out of Churto. I repeat the motion once, twice, watching with a fond smile as Churto loses himself in the pleasure of it.

Eventually, panting, Churto asks me, “Alex? Can I—?”

In answer I give his cock one final squeeze, then let go and pull down my pants, revealing my own hard errection. With a wink at Churto I bend over the hood of the car, offering my perky butt to the handsome gay starspawn butt-tacle.

“Pound me,” I tell him, “Pound my tight gay asshole with your incomprehensible cock!”

Churto moans, then aligns his massive cock with the hole in my nethers and pushes inside in one smooth motion.

It’s strange at first, feeling so full, but soon enough Churto starts moving and it all becomes incredibly sexy. I grab hold of my own rock-hard erection and start pumping in time with his powerful thrusts.

“Oh, Churto! Harder! Fuck me harder with your large outercosmic cock!” I shout in pleasure, and Churto does just that.

I feel a great ecstasy building up within me, rising and rising as Churto pounds into me with his hard butt-tacle cock—

“Now, Alex!” Churto commands. “Cum together with me so that we may open the gate to the domain of the Goat of a Thousand Butts!”

We cum.

The dimension of the Goat of a Thousand Butts suddenly appears before us, momentarily blinding me with the bright glare of its terrible star hanging high in the blackened sky.

It’s a disconcerting mess, the journey there—it feels like a blink of an eye, but at the same time, it feels like it takes a thousand terrible, butt-less years, the screaming void so devastatingly empty that I’m forced to gouge out my eyes to escape the awful irreality of it.

Upon regaining my sight, I’m surprised to find myself once more dressed properly and standing in what appears to be a forest made entirely of extremely phallic-looking trees. Looking up towards the canopy, I see that instead of leaves, butts are sprouting everywhere – there must be at least a thousand of them, stretching as far as the eye can see.

“Is this where we’re supposed to be?” I ask, turning to Churto.

He nods. Then, turning toward one of the trees, he says, “We’re here to see the Goat of a Thousand Butts, Lord of the Hard Wood, the Whisperer in Bed – and, please. It’s urgent.”

Like a wave of jiggling jello, the butt-trees part in front of Churto as soon as he finishes speaking.

Undaunted, he strides down the now-opened path. I follow after him, trying my best not to stare at the various – and quite frankly super hot – sizes and shapes the butt-trees are showing off.

Eventually, Churto and I come to a halt. In front of us is what must be the Goat of a Thousand Butts – there’s simply no other explanation for the amorphous blob of butts in front of us. From what appears to be a central mass of a giant butt extrude the same phallic tree-like stems we’d walked through earlier, ending in a multitude of smaller butts. It puts me in mind of a dandelion, except that everything is butts.

Somehow it manages to simultaneously be the most terrifying thing I’ve ever come across, while also being startlingly handsome.

"Oh Goat of a Thousand Butts, most globulous of all the Great Old Butts," Churto begins, "we've come to seek aid. I'm one of Cthulhu's butt-tentacles, and I need to get back home to his dreadful butt. I don't know how, though. Will you help me? Will you tell me how to get back home?"

The Goat of a Thousand Butts stares at us. Then it shakes—it’s not really its head, not quite, more like its whole body, but the implicit denial gets across regardless of the body parts being used.

“No,” it says.

I stare. “Why not?”

“Because there are matters more important to attend to. Because such trivial concerns are beyond me. Mainly,” the Goat of a Thousand Butts tells us, “I just don’t feel like it.”

Next to me, Churto lets out a despairing whimper – and I make my decision.

“Either you tell us how to get Churto back to Cthulhu’s butt,” I say, sticking out my chiseled chest and flexing my arms so as to seem more intimidating, “or—“

The Goat of a Thousand Butts only laughs, and at least half of its butts jiggle ominously at me. “Or what?” it crows, obviously amused by the idea of a mere human like me standing up to one of the Great Old Butts.

But it doesn’t know what I know. And so I grin up at the central mass of butts, and then at the butts around it, just for good measure.

“Or else I won’t leave,” I tell the Goat of a Thousand Butts.

It laughs, and all of its butts laugh together with it, jiggling and swaying and once more my head grows dizzy. I never thought I’d say this, but there are simply _too many_ butts!

“What sort of threat is that?” the Goat of a Thousand Butts asks eventually, once it has all its butts back under control and it’s no longer in danger of accidentally devastating small farmsteads across several worlds.

The grin doesn’t leave my face. Briefly I turn back to Churto to give him a thumbs-up – I’m going to get him home to Cthulhu’s butt, no matter how hard and long the road there may be.

To the Goat of a Thousand Butts, I confidently say, “I’m Welsh.”

It is only a half-truth: my paternal grandfather was Welsh, and he had immigrated to the USA during the Secret Butt War of 1919. He had refused to take sides in the conflict that was fought between our world’s patriotic butts and the violent invading butts of another dimension, and so, because he didn’t want to be branded as a deserter, he fled to America. So all in all I am only a quarter Welsh, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the course of my research it’s that no matter how thin your Welsh ancestry, various beings from out of space will still consider you to be _too_ Welsh for their comfort.

Predictably, the Goat of a Thousand Butts screams in synchronized gluteus agony with all of its thousand butts at my revelation. “No! It cannot be!”

“It’s the truth,” I laugh. My plan was successful! “I _am_ Welsh. And unless you want a Welsh person hanging around your globulous demesne for all eternity, I suggest you tell Churto and me how to get him back to Cthulhu’s butt.”

The Goat of a Thousand Butts stares at me for a moment longer, right up until I take a step toward it and raise my hand as if to touch it.

It rears back as if I’d just told it that giant blobs of butts are no longer in fashion. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you whatever you want to know if you promise to leave quickly, Welshman, and never come back.”

Easy. “I promise,” I tell the Goat of a Thousand Butts, and I do mean it. I just want to get Churto home, and then go home myself.

Even as I speak the words, however, I feel a shiver wrack my frame, and the Goat of a Thousand Butts chuckles. “Know that if you break your promise, I will visit horrors unimaginable upon you.” I back off at that, moving closer to Churto again. “Good, Welshman. Now, I cannot get your butt-tacle friend back to Cthulhu myself, but I can provide you with someone who can.”

With that the Goat of a Thousand Butts turns its giant mass around and makes to depart – I once more move toward it, but before I can even take a step Churto grabs me by the arm and holds me back.

While the Goat of a Thousand Butts disappears back into the forest of its young butts, a man appears right in front of Churto and me. It takes a couple of seconds before he is all there and no longer leaking voidstuff and other unsavory things, and when he is wholly corporeal he gives us a bow.

“My name is Abdul Alhunkred,” the very handsome man says. While he speaks I take a moment to admire his colorful robes and the very sensuous-looking fingers. There is a hint of knowledge far beyond what any normal being should know shimmering in his eyes, and he looks rugged in a real handsome, manly way. “I’m somewhat of an expert when it comes to the Great Old Butts, considering that I wrote the book on how to summon them—”

Everything clicks for me. “ _You’re_ Abdul Alhunkred, author of the Buttronomicon?” I interrupt, suddenly in awe of this great man who is such an integral part of the mystery surrounding the Great Old Butts.

The great handsome author gives me a wink, and it’s all I can do not to swoon. “I am indeed. More importantly, I also know how to get to the drowned city of R’lyeh, where resides dread Cthulhu with his entourage of butt-tacles.” He turns to Churto, smiling encouragingly. “I can get you home.”

Unexpectedly, Churto doesn’t say anything.

“Churto?” I ask, gently laying a hand on his shoulder.

At my touch he draws a deep breath, almost as if steeling himself for something—he draws his shoulders up straight and faces the author of the Buttronomicon with a defiantly raised chin. “Take us back to his world,” he says, gesturing at me.

Before I can protest, Abdul Alhunkred snaps his fingers and we’re suddenly back in the hotel room I’d rented in East Phalliford, Churto and I sitting on the small bed while Abdul Alhunkred stands in front of us.

After giving the small room a once-over, he looks at the two of us. “Well, that's that -- you're home, and I’ve got to be going now. There’s still a few things left to do before I can depart for the ecstasy that is the Tingularity.” And with that, he snaps his fingers and disappears.

I briefly debate jumping to my feet and running after that strange, strange man, but considering how he’s nowhere to be seen I can’t exactly run after him, and so I instead turn to look at Churto.

“Why are we back in East Phalliford? Why are we back in my world?” I ask quietly while staring into his large and very beautiful eyes.

Churto shrugs. “Because I came to the conclusion that I no longer want to be one of Cthulhu’s adoring butt-tacles,” he says, averting his gaze.

I can only boggle. “But you’re Cthulhu’s greatest butt-tacle! Don’t you want to go home?”

“No, Alex. Home, for me, has always been where the butt is,” Churto says, reaching out to gently fondle mine. I try to catch his eyes again but he refuses to look at me, instead blushing fiercely. It’s super cute, despite the gravity of the situation. “And I like your butt a whole lot, you know. Cthulhu has so many butt-tacles hanging off of him already, I don’t think he’d miss me all that much—“

My breath catches in my throat. My heart feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest and explode into a thousand butt-tacle shaped pieces, all pulsing with joy. “You can’t mean . . .?” I trail off. Is this really happening? I can’t believe it!

Churto nods, and spreads his arms. I turn to face him completely, hugging him tight for a good long moment before resting my head on his amazing chest. One of his hands still on my butt, he gives it a sensuous squeeze before leaning down to whisper in my ear, “Your butt is my home now, Alex.”

**Author's Note:**

> That butt is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons even coherence may die.
> 
> Happy Yuletide!


End file.
